


Dr. Pellinore Warthrop: The Doctor in the Dark

by Gimme_a_Hand_Scaevola



Category: The Monstrumologist Series - Rick Yancey
Genre: Established Relationship, House on Harrington Lane AU, M/M, Modern AU, roleplaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 01:38:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4727951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gimme_a_Hand_Scaevola/pseuds/Gimme_a_Hand_Scaevola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the clearance bin of a used book store, Jack Kearns discovers, to his great entertainment, a harlequin novel starring on Dr. Pellinore Warthrop. Unable to stop himself from teasing his long time partner over the find, Jack launches them into an elaborate romantic escapade that seems to go wrong at every turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Dr. Pellinore Warthrop: The Doctor in the Dark**

Jack Kearns tipped his head back and sighed at the ceiling. He fought a yawn and sipped his latte. It had been, he checked his watch, two hours since they had come into this godforsaken store. He ought to have known better than to allow Pellinore into a used book store, and worse still this particular used book store. There was an entire basement of vintage science tomes that could captivate the man for hours. 

The first time they had come here Pellinore had found a first edition of “On the Origin of Species,” that he had procured for the unreasonably low price of eighty dollars, the store managers having no idea what they had. At the time Jack had been happy for him for this unexpected windfall. He had made a fuss over it to stroke Warthrop’s preening ego and allowed Pellinore thirty minutes of time deliberating over where to put it in his library. Producing the pros and cons of each new placement as Pellinore asked, and dutifully listening to Pellinore’s prattling. 

But then there had then been a rather confusing escapade of Pellinore nuzzling his neck and jaw, scraping his teeth suggestively over Jack’s skin. Pausing every few minutes to gaze at his new acquisition. 

“Pellinore,” Jack had said, half in breathless reaction and half in confusion, “Is this about your book?” 

“No,” Pellinore said, turning Jack so his back was to it and Pellinore could look over his shoulder without turning. He made a small pleased noise and kissed Jack, fingers fussing at the buttons of Jack’s shirt.

“Then stop looking at it.” Jack said, moderately irritated. 

“I can’t, a first edition, Jack,” he bit down the side of Jack’s neck. 

Jack growled and pulled Pellinore toward him by the hips, “Let’s go upstairs, Pellinore,” Jack said, stepping backwards toward the door. 

Pellinore pulled him back, “There is no need, no one else is here.” He then did something Jack considered unreasonably underhanded. He gave the shell of Jack’s ear a tender bite and said in a hot breath, “ _John_ ,” he emitted the softest imaginable of growls, low in his throat. 

Jack shuddered and groaned, “Pell,” he whined, “If you are going to kiss me, don’t look at your book. Look at _me_.”

“It’s Charles Darwin, Jack.” 

Needless to say, Jack was less than enthused to be spending another afternoon in this particular book store. He drained the rest of the coffee and rifled through a bin of clearance books without really looking at them. He was moments from picking up Pellinore over his shoulder and demanding that they leave at once. 

He had just about turned to go downstairs and find Pellinore when something in the bin caught his eye. It was a slim and rather disheveled novel. The red borders marking it as a romance of the physically descriptive variety. Jack lifted an eyebrow at the cover. 

A slim and sleekly muscled man glistened on the cover, dark hair falling in waves over his pale and high cheekboned face. An unbuttoned white lab coat hung open on his broad shoulder with only low slung trousers underneath. 

Scrawling red rimmed letters titled the novel ‘ _A Doctor in the Dark_.’

Jack smirked and flipped the book over to read the back cover, when he did, his smirk turned into a gaping mouthed stare. 

‘ _When the young and beautiful Scarlette takes a job as a maid at the dark old house at the end of the lane, the last thing she expects to find is the dark and brooding beauty that lives within. Scarlette soon finds herself utterly compelled by the dark hearted doctor who spends all hours of his day in his gloom filled basement laboratory, soaking in his obsession and destructive ego._

 _But Scarlette is not the only one who has noticed the fiery heat between them and soon something other than the gruesome specimens he keeps below will capture that unyielding obsession of the Doctor in the Dark._ ’

Jack set down his empty coffee cup to flip properly through the book. He might have to buy this, even if it were a bit on the nose, just to torment Pellinore a bit. 

He did not, on that first flip through, get passed the first page. A bit of dialogue caught his eye and he might have choked. 

‘ _Scarlette, trying and failing to meet those brooding dark and handsome eyes, heard her own voice shake tremulously when she said, “It is a pleasure to meet you...Dr. Pellinore Warthrop._ ’

“No,” Jack said in utter disbelief, “No. Have I fallen through the looking glass?” He flipped to the back cover, hunting down the name of the publisher. 

He flipped out his phone and dialed the provided number. 

“Yes, hello, is this Red Sizzling Publishing? Excellent. I am calling in regards to a novel you published a number of years ago, ‘ _Doctor in the Dark_ is that still in print? It is not. Do you have any copies in inventory? You do. Thirty six? Yes, I would like to purchase them. Yes, you heard me, all of them. Of course you can have my credit card information, right away.” 

With the reassurance that even if Pellinore destroyed this copy, he would be fully able to read it, he fairly danced down the stairs, utterly giddy. 

“Oh, _Pellinore_ ,” he purred when the saw him, standing in the gloom of the basement, picking through the old tomes. 

“Hmm?” he asked, not looking up at Jack. 

“I have found such a lovely book, would you give it a look over? Judge its value?” 

Pellinore looked up, always willing to wax on about the worth of a book, particularly if Jack would give him a rapt audience. He took the novel and looked down at it, “...What is this, Jack?”

“I have told you , Pellinore, a book of incredible worth.” 

“This is a tawdry romance, Jack, why would I- oh.” He had flipped it over and glanced at the summary. Even in the gloom Jack could track the bloom of heat over Pellinore’s cheekbones. 

Jack slid himself close to Pellinore and breathed into his ear, “The first page, Dr. Warthrop.” 

Long fingers slightly shaking, Jack watched his lips form his own name silently as he read it on the pages. “Jack. Jack what- what the devil is this?” 

“I found it upstairs,” Jack purred, “It seems you have caught someone’s eyes.” 

“This is...invasive.” 

“But very funny.” 

“Who is the author, how do I contact her, this Alabaster Cavendish?”

Jack snorted, “I would put my money on that being a pseudonym, my dear Dark Doctor.” 

“Throw this out, John.” 

“Oh no, no I would never do that, Don’t you want to hear it?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

Jack, of course, purchased the book anyway and read it aloud on the drive home. Racy indeed. 

‘ _”Oh, my dear Dr. Warthrop...I didn’t expect you to be working so late,_ ”’ Kearns read in a fluting girlish voice, pressed far enough back against the door of the car that Pellinore could not pluck the book from his grasp without the risk of a car crash.

“Stop this at once, Kearns!” Warthrop demanded, “There is no need to hear this book aloud.” 

“Oh, I believe there is every need, my darling Pellinore, now where was I? Oh yes, ‘“ _I didn’t expect you to be working so late,” Scarlette said, her voice a tremulous whisper, “My goodness Dr. Warthrop, your lab coat is so...dirty.”_ Here Kearns had to take a break to comport himself and stifle his laughter. 

It went on like this on the entire car ride back to their little hamlet and, by the time they had reached Harrington Lane and Jack had made it most of the way through the book, and through more than one scene of amorous intent, Pellinore was white knuckling the steering wheel and red in the face. 

Jack had the good sense to dart away the moment they pulled up and avoid Pellinore’s attempt to wrest the book from his grasp. Pellinore did not give chase, heat burning all the way up his neck and over his cheeks he stalked away from Jack, irately marching into the house and down into his basement, slamming the door behind him. 

Jack knew Pellinore well enough not to wait for him to emerge on his own, he could be down there for hours without the smallest break. Instead, he gave Pellinore a couple of hours to himself so that his concentration on the task at hand would be absolute. Jack then slipped off his shoes so his steps would be soft and eased the basement door open. He took slow steps down the stairs, keeping to their edges so that they would not squeak. 

As he had hoped, Pellinore was bent over his work, back to the door. Jack allowed himself a predatory smirk and crept up behind him until he was nearly pressed against Pellinore’s back. Then, in a breathy voice he read: 

‘ _Oh, Dr. Warthrop! Your basement is so cold but you are so hot!_ ”

Pellinore jumped, and swore, “Kearns! Stop it with that damnable book!” Color spread again over his cheeks and he unhappily snapped his forceps down onto his metal autopsy table with a resounding clatter. “What is it that you are trying for, reading that thing into my ear?” 

“Is that not perfectly apparent, _Dr. Warthrop_?” Kearns purred, attempting, and failing, to look innocent. 

Pellinore turned on his, lips turned down, “If this is an attempted seduction, it is one of your worst.” 

Jack sidled up to him, slowly unbuttoning his lab coat, “Then,” he purred, “You are saying you have no interest in bending me over your autopsy table?” 

Pellinore made a sour face, “Absolutely not, John, infected corpses lie upon that table.”

Jack wilted a little, “Hmm, I cannot bring myself to argue with that particular point. Perhaps the kitchen table will have to do.” 

Pellinore scowled, “Are you casting yourself as my housekeeper, then? You could get into character and clean the kitchen.” 

Jack attempted to reclaim his teasing tone, “I would have to be properly rewarded.” 

Pellinore surprised Jack by leaning into him and dropping his voice to a husky growl, “Do you want me to wear my lab coat, Jack? Does it put you in the mood for unspeakable things?” 

This time it was Jack who made a sour face, “No, it puts me in the mood to do laundry. Damnit.” 

Point made, Pellinore’s voice resumed its usual crisp quality and he smirked in triumph, “You see, John, no reason to keep that foul book around.” 

“Not to worry, Pellinore, I will work something out. For now, I will let you get back to work.” 

“Thank god,” Pellinore said and turned back to his table. 

Jack sidled out, making Pellinore jump a final time by giving his rump a parting swat. 

It was nearly a week before Jack made his move. Pellinore had nearly forgotten about the wretched book. Pellinore had only been gone for less than an hour, he had just run to the grocery store to find something for the two of them to eat for lunch. When he returned, he knew immediately that something was afoot. 

Jack was nowhere to be seen when Pellinore entered the kitchen to deposit the groceries. Jack had been rather aloof of late, he had gone so far as to rebuff the last of Pellinore’s advances, something he could not really remember Jack ever doing. He had gone to the store and hunted down the makings for Jack’s favorite supper, hoping to cheer him with it. He had even spent thirty minutes hunting down the recipe so he could be sure to do it right. 

He did not get as far as starting dinner. In the kitchen, sitting on the table was a slim box, wrapped up in red paper and topped with a cream colored bow. Pellinore, in a rush of panic, put down the groceries and scrambled to open the calendar in his phone. He breathed out heavily in relief. It was not Jack’s birthday, nor their anniversary, nor any sort of memorable date that he had neglected to remember as far as he could tell. And he had set alerts on his cell phone for all of the days he was supposed to remember. 

He circled the table, staring down the package as though he hoped its intent would reveal itself from a different angle. It did not. Warily, he flicked open the little card stuck under the ribbon. 

‘ _Open me, Dr. Warthrop._ ’

Frowning he slid the lid from the box and groaned. Folded neatly inside was a crisp new lab coat. Jack knew well enough that Pellinore would never forsake _his_ lab coat. But this forced Pellinore to remember the ridiculous novel that Jack had taken so much joy in. 

He took the coat from the box and looked at it warily. A slip of paper was sticking out of one of the front pockets. Pellinore plucked it out read it. In looping script it said:

‘ _Come upstairs, Dr. Warthrop_ ’

Pellinore sighed. Is this what Jack wanted? He did seem to be enjoying himself with his ridiculous game. It was not so much to ask, he supposed. He went back to the front door and triple checked that it was locked, then returned to the kitchen. He would never be able to forget the anatomically incorrect illustration on the front of the novel of the most tawdry rendition of himself that could ever be constructed, so he knew for what Jack was asking. 

Awkwardly, he hung his jacket over the back of the kitchen chair and, hesitating, feeling very foolish, unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his shoulders. It was a little chilly in the kitchen wearing only his pants and a bare torso. He hunched forward his shoulders, and could feel the blush creeping over his cheeks. Somewhat stiffly he put the new lab coat on over his bare shoulders, letting it hang open. 

He got halfway up the stairs, walking awkwardly and stiffly. He stopped, dropping his head into his hands. As long as he was going to so amuse Jack, there was no purpose in doing it half heartedly. If he didn’t want to do it, all he would have to do is _tell_ Jack that it made him uncomfortable and he was sure Jack would not press the matter. He spent a few moments trying to draw himself into the overconfident mindset that overtook him when presenting his work for the Society. Taking a final deep breath he straightened his back, set his shoulders sternly and walked purposefully into their bedroom. 

As he had expected, Jack was already there, lying lithely atop the bed clothes. His hair was elegantly disheveled and splayed over the pillows. Pellinore tried very hard to retain his composure. Jack had clothed himself in nothing but the tightest red pleather pants Pellinore had ever seen. A nod to the female protagonist, ‘Scarlette,’ Pellinore was sure. 

Pellinore had nothing to say, and didn’t think he could speak without laughing, so he merely tried to look as dark and brooding as he could. 

Jack writhed sinuously in his red pants and Pellinore had to actively scowl to keep the grin from his face. But Jack too seemed to be fighting to keep his face erotic rather than schoolboyishly amused. 

“Pellinore,” he said in a tone that matched his movements. His eyes roved slowly up at down Pellinore’s exposed torso.

Pellinore took a slow breath through his nose to keep his face straight and said, in as authoritarian of a voice as he could manage, “You are to call me Dr. Warthrop.” 

Jack lost character for half a moment, his stomach clenching to silence a giggle and his lips twitching upward. Then he forced himself back into seriousness. “You’ve been downstairs for so long, Dr. Warthrop,” he purred, “I have been _aching_ for you.” 

Pellinore swooped down on Jack, pinning him down and hovering over him. Attempting to make his voice dark and compelling he said, “You need wait no longer.” 

Jack arched up and whispered needily into his ear, “ _Doctor Warthrop._ ”

Pellinore could not say, in honesty, that _that_ was entirely ineffective. He recognized that now was an appropriate time for teasing, but it was so infrequently him that did the teasing that he could only try to imitate things Jack had done in the past. 

He drew Jack’s hands over his head and held them both down with one of his. He dragged his free hand down Jack’s well muscled torso, under him Jack squirmed and released small noises. Coming up with dialogue might have caused him some consternation, but this was certainly enjoyable. Although he was most pleased that the man who had become wriggling and helpless beneath him was a powerful and accomplished bounty hunter and it would not have been nearly as affecting if he were, as he pretended to be, a doe eyed and subservient housekeeper. 

Groaning as Pellinore traced his fingers over the delicate skin above the the waistband of those ridiculous pants, Jack moaned, “Oh, Dr. Warthrop.” 

Pellinore leaned down, intending to growl Jack’s own name into his ear, but he paused. He wasn’t entirely sure what Jack wanted him to call him. Awkwardly, into Jack’s ear he breathed, “...housekeeper.” 

Jack wrinkled his nose and said, in a much more Jack-ish voice, “You are taking your housekeeper to bed and you call him ‘housekeeper?’”

Pellinore, defensive, replied, “Would you have me call you ‘Scarlette’?” 

Jack shrugged, “Try it.” 

Pellinore resettled over Jack and lowered himself again to his ear and said, “Scarlette.” 

Beneath him Jack started giggling, “Sorry, sorry, no, you can’t call me Scarlette.”

“Then what would you suggest?” Pellinore asked, sitting up, still straddling Jack’s pelvis. 

“You could call me ‘boy.’”

Pellinore made a face, “No. I absolutely refuse. I suppose it slightly ruins the effect to call you Dr. Kearns.” 

Jack frowned in thought, “Yes, it does somewhat.” 

Struck by sudden inspiration Pellinore, both of his hands now free, traced his nails slowly down Jack’s torso, in a voice that was more gentle than demanding he suggested, “Perhaps I can call you ‘beautiful,’ that will not be so difficult for me.” 

Jack looked quite appeased at that and pulled Pellinore down to him by the lapels of the lab coat with his newly freed hands. He kissed Pellinore languidly and murmured, his voice sounding quick lovestruck, “Dr. Warthrop.” 

Pellinore ground himself down onto Jack’s pelvis, knowing that was a favorite of Jack’s. He expected Jack’s usual response of a tossed back head and barking groan, but instead Jack yelped. 

“Pell, ow, stop!” 

Immediately Pellinore backed off, lifting his weight off of Jack, “What? Are you alright?” 

“The damn zipper.” 

“Are you not wearing anything beneath those foolish pants?” 

“No! It was supposed to be seductive.” 

“Here, let me fix it for you,” Pellinore said and loosed the red pants’ button and zipper, pulling them off, or at least, trying to. He got them halfway down Jack’s thighs before they were simply too tight to pull down any further. “They’re stuck, Jack.” 

“Get off, I’ll get them.” 

Pellinore let Jack get up and, after much wriggling and pulling and dancing about, and once tripping and falling onto his bare bottom on the floor, he was released from the red pleather pants. Victorious, Jack leapt to his feet. 

Pellinore couldn’t help it, Jack just looked so precious stripped to the skin, excitable little smile of accomplishment on his face. Pellinore began to laugh, smiling helplessly at Jack.

“Come here, Jack,” he said, beckoning him with a crooked finger. 

Jack sauntered over and bent at the waist to kiss Pellinore, who could feel this smile on Jack’s lips “You are still in your shoes, Pell.” He kneeled before him and carefully removed Pellinore’s shoes, and then his socks, then, playful grin on his face said, “Can I see you, just once, in only the lab coat?” 

Pellinore gave him a toying grin and said, “Say: ‘Please, Dr. Warthrop.’” 

Jack, grinning at the resurgence of their game, looked up at Pellinore with his eyes wide and supplicant, “Please, Dr. Warthrop, for me.” 

Pellinore reached out and took Jack delicately by the jaw, tilting it up and standing, pulling Jack up with him. He kissed Jack, still holding him by the jaw and turned them slowly until Jack’s back was to the bed. Then Pellinore gave him a small push against the chest, knocking back onto the now rumpled bed clothes. 

“For you?” he said in a husky voice, “Anything.” Slowly, trying to be beguiling, he divested himself of his trousers and underclothes until he stood in only that lab coat. “Is this what you wanted...beautiful?” 

Jack looked quite pleased and nodded, “You are far more appealing than the cover illustration.” 

Pellinore allowed himself a small smile and said, “Yes, well, I have human musculature.” 

Jack lifted an eyebrow and freely devoured the sight of him, “Do you ever.” 

“Can I take off the coat now, Jack?” 

“If you must.” 

Pellinore slid the coat off and reclined on the bed, pulling Jack against him. 

“You have to admit, Pell,” Jack said, trailing his fingers the thin line of hair on Pellinore’s lower abdomen, “You enjoyed being called Dr. Warthrop.” 

Pellinore, who was also enjoying Jack’s fingers on his stomach, replied, trying to keep his voice level, “I doubt you would be entirely immune to the same effect, John.” 

Jack scoffed, “I think you are wrong in that, Pellinore.” 

“Really? Would you like to test your hypothesis?” 

Jack’s eyes lit up, “What did you have in mind?” 

Pellinore tugged at his wrist, “Sit astride me.” 

Jack did not protest for a moment, pulling Pellinore down by the hips so he lay flat on the bed rather than propped up against the headboard and sitting over him. Either by ploy, or driven to it by the press of their mutual interest in the proceedings, Pellinore rolled his hips upward grinding them together. Jack breathed out an oath. 

“Enjoyable as that is, Pellinore, it was not your hypothesis,” Jack said with labored breath. 

“Hold me down.” 

Jack acquiesced, pinning down Pellinore’s hands on either side of his head, interlacing their fingers. 

Pellinore arched his back and looked up at Jack with widened eyes, “Please,” he groaned, rolling his hips again, “Dr. Kearns.” 

“Dammit,” Jack breathed, “I do hate it when you are right. But,” he said, interspersing his next sentence with kisses down Pellinore’s throat, “in. my. defense.” he bit down, making Pellinore call out, “calling. me. anything. while. doing that. with your. hips,” he rubbed himself downward onto Pellinore and sucked at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, “and I am sure I would respond.” 

Pellinore, by now, was gasping and writhing under Jack, his voice shaking he said, “Jack, Jack, where is the-”

“Nightstand drawer, I’ve got it.” He released Pellinore’s hands to lean over and fetch what he needed from the drawer. 

In the next minutes, neither Jack nor Pellinore were able to keep up their games. Jack burying his face into the crux of Pellinore’s neck as he moved within him, keening moans muffled against Pellinore’s skin. “Ah,” he rasped, “Pellinore, God, Pell, you’re so, God, Pell.” 

Pellinore was likewise stripped of eloquence, releasing only frenzied whines and harsh bursts of noise that barely formed into “Jack! JACK!” 

Afterward when their sweat began to cool on their skin, they wriggled beneath their blankets, Jack pulling Pellinore against him so his head rested on Jack’s chest, his body on its side and lain alongside Jack’s body. 

“I did not expect you to humor me,” Jack said into Pellinore’s hair. 

“Mmm” Pellinore hummed against Jack’s chest, “Not that it went entirely as planned.” 

Jack laughed softly, “All’s well that ends well.”


	2. Chapter 2

John Chanler boredly ambled through Jack’s parlour, “Get your ass moving, Pell, we’re going to be late!” He shouted at the stairs. He and Pellinore were supposed to be leaving for von Helrung’s birthday but Pell, as usual had spent too long in his basement and now he had to wait for him to finish showering. 

No answer was forthcoming, although John had expected that. God how long did it take him. Peering around at Jack’s book shelf he saw book peaking out of cardboard box shoved onto a bottom shelf. He laughed, “You dog, Kearns.” 

He picked up the tawdry romance, smirking at the acquisition of ammunition with which to tease Jack, he flipped through the book and swore, dropping it as though he had been burned. It toppled into the box, revealing more than thirty copies of the smut book that starred his best friend. 

“What the hell, Kearns?” He shouted. 

Jack padded down the stairs and into the parlor, towel wrapped around his waist and hair dripping, “What are you shouting about, Chanler?”

John was distracted, “The hell, Jack? You aren’t even coming, why did you have to shower too?” 

Jack gave him a feral grin, “Just conserving water, John, is that what has you so upset?” 

“No, well now yeah, why the hell do you have Pellinore romance books?” 

Jack laughed, “Oh, those were a rather fortuitous find, weren’t they?” 

“Find? You mean you didn’t write them?” 

“Oh no, stumbled upon a copy at a used store. They were written by one Alabaster Cavendish.”

The little remaining color drained from John’s face, “What? Who wrote them?” 

“Alabaster Cavendish, quite a foolish pen name if you ask me.”

John couldn’t keep a mischievous and malevolent grin off his face, “I usually don’t get to get any kind of revenge on you, Jack, and here you are, distracting Pell and making us late and I get handed this.” 

“Whatever are you talking about?” 

“I know Alabaster Cavendish, and so do you.” 

“Do we?” Jack said, the edge of excitement in his voice, “Whoever is she? It is a she, isn’t it?” 

“Oh yeah, it is. I didn’t know she ever wrote anything, but she always told me that was the name she’d use if she did.” 

“Who is it?” Jack asked with a grin. When John’s only reply was a broader grin he said more warily, “Who is it, John?” Met with only more grinning he said, “...who?” 

“I think you know, Jack.” 

“No, John,” Said Jack, his voice stripped of its normal teasing, “Not…”

John nodded solemnly. 

Pellinore came downstairs, hair damp, but dressed and presentable to find Jack rooted to the spot, head between his hands, John Chanler looking pleased and victorious. 

“What is going on?” 

Jack looked at him desperately, “The book, Pellinore.” 

“Which book? Oh, God, that one, why must you-”

“Muriel wrote it.” 

“ _What_ ”

Dead eyed and ashen faced, the became even later getting to von Helrung’s that they might start a rampaging fire in the back yard and be rid themselves of every last copy of that damnable book.


End file.
